Gone
by weasley-twins-41
Summary: "'No. No. NO! Oh, Merlin, please no...' George choked. He couldn't breathe at all. Tears quickly carved their was down his face." Set during and post DH war. George's reaction to character death in the book. Officialy discontinued and will be redone.
1. Chapter 1

**MAJOR DH SPOILERS! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Okay, now that that is over with, I don't own Harry Potter, or Fred and George, blah, blah, blah…**

**Okay, I seriously CANNOT wait for HP7-WHICH COMES OUT NOVEMBER 19****th 2010****! YAY! It's gonna be torture waiting to see how well they did the death scenes *coughFREDcough* *coughSNAPEcough* though I'll probably bawl my eyes out anyway (btw, the closest I've ever come to crying in a movie was at the end of Lord of the Rings 3- that movie was amazing :)). **

**ANYWAY, I've decided to do a little angsty ficlet thingy for how George feels after Fred dies. I almost cried when I read it… ENJOY it's another depressing fic so there. AND NO GEORGE/FRED SLASHES EITHER! IF YOU COMMENT THAT THAT'S WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WILL BE BLOCKED AND BASHED!**

_"Stupefy!" George shouted. A Death Eater was blasted backward with a flash of red light and rendered unconscious. _

_ George stared at his surroundings. Huge craters had been blasted into the wall, and chunks on the stone floor had been carved out. Spatters of blood adorned the floor and George had no idea as to whom they belonged to. _

_ Fighting pursued all around him, but no Death Eaters turned to attack him. George allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and examine his injuries. Scrapes, bruises and gashes curled their way down his skin. There was nothing too serious, so George relaxed slightly, still on alert. _

_ George stood and flexed his arms experimentally, making sure his bruises and gashes wouldn't stall his fighting. He rendered himself fit to duel, and raised his wand._

_ Every inch of his skin exploded in pain._

_ George gasped and groaned, clutching his head and plummeting to his knees. Pain flooded into his very core, and he couldn't control his own limbs. He shook in agony, and images filled his head... memories that were not his._

He and George were laughing, zooming around on Cleansweep Sevens in the orchard next to their house. The sun shined brightly overhead, warming the air and creating a perfect day for flying…

He and George were laughing uncontrollably as the Muggle boy's tongue swelled up massively, the boy's mother tugging on it like an idiot…

"How much is this?" asked Ron.

"Five Galleons," he and George replied.

"How much for me?" persisted Ron.

"Five Galleons," they repeated.

"I'm your brother!" Ron said indignantly.

Fred and George shrugged, and replied, "Ten Galleons." …

"Yeah, imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits _forever_," Fred said to Harry, trying to make him lighten up about the situation of the Polyjuice Potion…

"I'm holey, Fred, gettit?" George croaked feebly, attempting a joke as blood slowly oozed out of the side of his head where his ear used to be. Fred couldn't believe it. In the whole world of ear-related humor, he went for _holey_?

Disbelief plagued him as Percy declared he was resigning from the Ministry…

…immense pain flooded him as the wall next to him blew up.

The whole world went black for the last time.

'_No._

_ No._

_ NO!_

_ Oh, Merlin, please, no…'_

_ George choked. He couldn't breathe at all. Tears quickly carved their way down his face. Something inside him denied it… Fred could not be dead…his mind would not permit it. _

_ George, still blinded by tears, began to fire jinxes left and right. None were Killing Curses, but he didn't care who he hit. He wanted to hurt whoever did this. He would kill whoever killed Fred._

_ He fought viciously, jinxing and hexing Death Eaters whenever they dared to show their ugly faces. He hated them: he hated them ALL!_

_ After what seemed like hours, the Death Eaters finally stopped coming. He breathed hard, the burning tears still blinding him. He lost all of his energy and, with a great effort, hobbled down three flights of stairs as his knees wobbled and threatened to collapse. He would not permit the idea of Fred being dead to enter his mind._

_ "He's not gone, he's not gone, he's not gone…" George repeated to himself constantly._

_ He finally got to the Great Hall, but he was terrified to go in. 'What will I see in there?' he wondered, but he already knew- countless dead victims, dead fighting for Harry Potter. He tried to tell himself that if he saw a red-headed family grouped around someone, that he would turn 'round and run. He would run, because he knew it would be Fred, and he would run until he got to the Astronomy Tower, and maybe pitch himself off the edge…?_

"No," _George said aloud to himself. If he killed himself, his family would be shredded apart. There would be no more happy Weasley family._

_ He sucked in a deep breath, and pushed open the doors._

_ All of his fears were confirmed in one tiny moment._

_ His dad was stroking his mum's back as she lay across a red-headed figure's chest. Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Percy and Ron were all grouped around the figure, silver tears interrupting the gray smudges of dust and grime on their faces. George walked cautiously forward as the agony set in and pierced his chest. _

_ The young man lying on the ground was Fred._

_ A cry of agony emitted from George's mouth at the sight of his best friend, his brother, his twin, his _other half _lying on the floor- cold, dead, lifeless, unsmiling. He walked to Fred's head and his knees gave out and thudded on the floor. _

_ Then the tears came, sliding thick and fast down his face, slicing through the blood and grime. George choked again and then the tortured sobs racked his body, his whole form shaking. He placed his hands on either side of Fred's head, and leaned down and pressed his forehead to his twin's. The tears slid into Fred's red hair as George sobbed. _

_ "Oh, Merlin… Fred… Please, no… Fred…" George repeated through his shaking voice._

_ The world had ended._

_ Fred was gone._

George's fingers curled around the ceramic of the sink. His knuckles blazed white as he tried to dig his fingernails into the smooth glass. All George had done was get out of bed, rather grudgingly at that, shuffle sleepily to the bathroom, and look in the mirror.

That's when the memory struck him and froze up his limbs.

George didn't see himself in the mirror.

He saw Fred.

That hurt much more than it should.

George noticed that tears were sliding down his face and dripping into the spotless sink. He stood rigid, his whole body completely still.

He slowly unclamped his fingers from around the contours of the sink and backed up, thudding against the wooden wall. George slid down to the floor and rested his head against the wall, the silver tears still making their way down his face. No sound accompanied them yet, but he could feel them rising to the surface: the sounds he hadn't tried to hide from his family.

He curled his knees to his chest and finally sobbed into his knees. He rocked back and forth like a little child.

"Fred," he whispered. "Fred…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Mmkay, I have decided to do a second chapter of Gone, since the end of the last chapter was sort of hanging and "out there"… so anyway…**

**Ack, I can't wait till July 15th- grrr. I don't want to wait that long for Part 2 of Harry Potter 7. I already know I'm going to like the second part better than the first one (and that's saying a lot, considering the first part was pure genius and awesome). **

**Hope you love it!**

Hours seemed to pass, though George knew it wasn't nearly that long… perhaps only a few minutes? He took long, shuddering breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. He felt like a little child as he wiped his eyes and shivered in the suddenly cold air of the restroom. George buried his face in his knees again and simply sat there. Time passed on without his knowing, and he didn't care how long he sat in the bathroom, the tears reappearing time and again.

Eventually the sun was high in the sky and shone through the tiny window high on the wall. George looked up at it, his eyes still red and puffy, and wondered how in Merlin's name the sun could rise again. The world had ended, so why did the stupid sun feel the need to rise, reminding the world that Fred was _gone_? Gone, gone, and gone, never to stand up again? Every time he closed his eyes, every time he moved, every time he _breathed,_ he was reminded of Fred. How could he live on while Fred was gone?

He stood up shakily and wiped his eyes again. He pushed open the door of the bathroom and trudged back to his room. There was silence throughout the house: no noise whatsoever. George hated it. All his life he had heard _some_ type of noise- crackles, fizzes and pops from his and Fred's inventions, screams of surprise as someone walked right into a prank, or even Fred's heavy snores that kept George awake at night.

Now, it was _deathly_ silent, as if someone had cast a Silence spell over the house.

He looked around his room. So many scorches and scrape marks adorned the walls, George wasn't sure he remembered what the wallpaper's color was. Scribblings of notes and plans overflowed the desk in the corner.

A wastebasket stood in another corner. It had been enchanted to make a burping noise when one of them threw a crumpled leaflet, note or scrap into it, so why was it not working now?

_'Because its enchanter is gone,'_ George thought morbidly. His knees shook and he wobbled over to his bed. He tried not to look up at Fred's bunk, but failed miserably. George's eyes burned, and he collapsed onto his sheets. Sitting on the edge, he bent over, and his head fell into his hands. Tears rolled down his face again, though nearly not as bad as the night Fred…

George didn't want to think about it, but he did. He remembered seeing Fred's body lying cold, pale and lifeless in the Great Hall. He had sat next to his other half for hours, staring at his body that would never laugh or smile again. He had held Fred's cold hand, crying until he had no more tears to shed. When they had finally said they needed to take his body away, he had protested harder than he ever had before. It took Bill, Charlie, Percy, _and _Ron to hold him back, he struggled so hard.

_"Get- off- me!" George yelled, struggling as hard as he could. He _would not _let them take away Fred. "FRED! FRED!"_

_His dad was picking up Fred's body, tears sliding down his face from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. _

_He turned and began to carry Fred away. "FRED!" George shrieked. "FRED!" He tried to throw off the four pairs of hands holding him back. His father disappeared from sight and George gave up. He relaxed and broke down. Sobs racked his body again, and the hands on him disappeared, only to be replaced by hugs. _

"Georgie?" A soft knock sounded from the door, accompanied by his mother's soft voice. His head popped up as his mother pushed open the door. She wandered in, looking like she was going to cry at looking at the room, but miraculously, she didn't. George knew he might not be able to stop if his mum started.

She looked at George; saw his red and wet face, and his puffy eyes. She whimpered and began to cry.

"Mum, please… please don't… I'm- I…" George stuttered. His mother covered her mouth and darted forward, softly putting herself into George's arms. George continued to let the jumbled mix of words expel from his mouth until he noticed his mum. He stood still for a moment and slowly hugged her back, working harder than he ever had to hold back the tears.

"George," she mumbled. "I just… I'm so sorry! I can't imagine what you're feeling. I'm sorry."

"Mum… it's okay. You're right- you don't know," said George, giving up. "I miss him… so much."

They stood there awhile; one comforting the other, then finally broke apart, with Molly hobbling off to do something or other.

xxxXxxx

One week later, George woke and lay in his bed for a long time. Today was the horrid day Fred would go six feet under.

Very reluctantly, George shoved himself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, washed up and returned to his room. It felt as if his limbs were locked with cement as he clumsily jerked on his black silk robes. It didn't feel right. He felt as if it was he and Fred that were supposed to go to someone else's funeral. He wanted Fred by his side instead of in a wooden coffin, about to go six feet under.

He looked at himself in the mirror on his wall and choked. Images from the horrendous night Fred left him forever flashed in his head…_ flashes of red and blue and orange light as curses were exchanged, a scream wrenching from his mouth, his family grouped around his twin, his father carrying Fred away…_

He tore his eyes away from the mirror as his eyes burned.

He inhaled deeply and pushed open the door to his room. He stepped out and began to descend the staircase, the sad voices from the lower floors becoming louder and louder.

"How is George going to take this?"

"I wonder if he will ever be okay again."

"Shh, Ginny, don't say that! He might hear you!"

"Sorry!"

"Will he even agree on coming?"

"He may be suffering more than we know."

"Oh, I hope he's alright!"

"I do, too."

George felt hurt by their words. Of course he would never take it with a faintest trace of light, and _of course _he was suffering more than they knew. He suffered far, far beyond anything they could imagine or even fathom. It was his _twin, _for Merlin's sake!

The voices abruptly ended as they heard George's footsteps on the stairs. He stepped onto the floor from the last step and looked slowly around at his family.

"Oh, Georgie," his mother breathed. She rushed to him and hugged him. He let his arms hang limply by his sides. She pulled away from him after a moment.

Everyone was dressed in black silk robes, just as he was. Why, oh, why, did it have to be Fred? Why _his _family, of all families?

Why Fred? Why not just Voldemort?

Why did Fred have to die?

George had wondered these things thousands of times over since he had seen Fred lying on the ground, cold, lifeless, unsmiling, unresponsive to George's lamenting. George had longed for Fred to sit up, say, "Ta-da!" and also, "Stop crying over me, you sod! I'm not dead!"

But it hadn't happened. Fred had stayed on the cold stone floor, his hand almost being crushed in George's.

_And Percy did nothing, nothing at all to try and keep him safe, _George thought bitterly. He immediately felt a twinge of guilt afterwards. It wasn't Percy's fault Fred was dead, was it?

Everyone held hands, and they twisted on the spot.

There was a loud _crack, _and they appeared at the graveyard gate. The coldness of the gate penetrated every barrier George had tried to put up. He pushed the gate open with trembling hands, and walked slowly through.

Everyone else hurried along in front of him while he stuck behind. He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He couldn't. He just couldn't. He couldn't handle seeing Fred's body again. He couldn't accept it.

George tried to crush all his feelings down. He walked forward into the graveyard, along the path, and up the stairs to the cathedral at the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**HEY you people! Here's chapter 3 of "Gone"! Hope you like this one. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to not make this overly sappy. I'M TRYING SOOOO HARD! Haha- I'm partially kidding (well that doesn't make any sense, now, does it? Am I going mad or what?).**

**I hope I did a good job with this. Thanks for everyone that's continuously following this story!**

A whoosh of freezing air greeted George as he stepped into the stone building. He dragged his feet along the floor, scared to death to enter the room. An elaborate wooden box lay at the front of the room on a table. George almost stopped breathing. He gritted his teeth and walked forward slowly, hesitantly. He couldn't do this, yet his feet acted without command. '_I can't, I can't, I can't…' _screamed his thoughts.

George berated himself hopelessly. He was twenty, after all- why was he acting like a child? But he knew the answer all too well; he acted the way he did because he felt lost, alone, and empty.

He was almost at the wooden box. His mind would not allow him to associate the word _coffin _with his twin, Fred. It just didn't make sense. How could Fred Weasley be gone?

George climbed the two steps. His heart beat madly. He had trouble breathing as he approached the box.

He stopped at its side and looked in.

There was Fred, laying down on a padding of cotton, the whole top to the coffin open. His face was pale as the moon, and the smile was still etched into his face. George let out a soft whimper. Fred was dressed in a set of his Weasley's Wizard Wheezes robes, the magenta clashing wonderfully with his red hair. He lay with his hands clasped over his wand; much like Dumbledore had been laid to rest a year before.

George's eyes burned. He could no longer see Fred with his blurry vision. His fingers gripped the sides of the coffin tightly, his knuckles turning white. He tried to dig his fingernails into the wood, but failed. His knees went weak and he almost collapsed. George inhaled deeply past the lump in his throat. He gasped for breath quietly. Arms rigid, he tried to loosen his fingers from the box.

George vaguely heard the doors to the old building opening and closing, and he knew more and more people could see him standing at the front of the room, struggling to stay sane while he stood over a corpse.

George took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His fingers slid slowly from the wood and his hands hung limply by his sides. He scrubbed the wetness from his eyes and staggered to his seat in the front row. His family was spread out amongst the chairs, going in age order. A chair to his left was empty. Fred was three minutes older than him. Percy, who sat on the other side of Fred's empty chair, couldn't look at him. It was obvious he felt guilty. Percy's lips were pressed together in a thin line as he tried to keep the tears from running down his face.

Finally, after what seemed like long, stretching hours, the torturous event began.

The ceremony was everything it should have been.

A tall, spindly looking woman stood up from her chair and walked to the podium, clearing her throat. As she spoke, her voice emitted a sort of pageantry and beauty.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, we have gathered today to mourn the loss of a brilliant wizard, whose time came much too soon. Fred Weasley. He was a witty, wonderful, and caring gentleman- a man who always knew how to lift people's spirits. He was a best friend to many, a son to two, a brother to six, and a twin to one. Together, he and his twin successfully ran a joke shop- Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Many people found delight from the hilarious jokes…"

And on it went. The woman laid out a long, lengthy speech, with very believable emotion hurled into it. Then after her were all the others wishing Fred a goodbye.

Finally, it was George's turn.

_I can't, _George thought frantically, but his feet were already carrying him to the podium. His hands rested on the rough wood and he cleared his throat and tried to speak, but nothing came out. George closed his eyes and thought, _help me, Fred._

George opened his eyes to see a sea of people sprawled before him. He cleared his throat once more and began to speak, his voice shaking.

"You all know what it's like to lose a friend or a loved one. But I don't think any of you know what I went through that night" –he swallowed- "and you will never know. I don't expect you to. You could never imagine it. I hate it when people talk about him in the past tense- because _he's not gone_. As long as people remember him and love him, he will never leave us.

"Fred always said he wanted to go out with a bang. We both did. I guess that really came true, didn't it?" A few watery chuckles broke out from the crowd- most people now knew he had been killed by an exploding wall. "But we never imagined we wouldn't go at the same time. We'd always assumed we'd go together. But I guess reality finally caught up with us- he went first." Now George was suppressing a quiet sob; he weakly chided himself for behaving like a little kid.

"We all miss Fred. I wish he could be here. It's selfish of me, but I wish he was back and we were going to someone else's funeral- none of yours of course… of course not… but just not me going to his. Thank you."

George finished. He stumbled back to his seat, and Ron, who had an arm around Ginny, patted his back. Percy reached over and did the same.

…

_One week later… _

George knelt on the soft dirt. His fingers absentmindedly curled into the grass. "Hey, Fred," he muttered.

The new tombstone was a shining, white marble color. It was quite nice, really, thanks to Harry. Harry had forced the Weasleys to let him pay in full for the funeral. He still felt guilty, and thought it was his fault Fred had died. The sunlight shattered off of it and reflected it everywhere.

_Fred Weasley_

_April 1__st__, 1978- May 2__nd__, 1998_

_A brilliant Gryffindor, Beater, prankster, friend, brother, and twin._

_We will never forget you._

"It's still really hard to accept you're gone. Mum still bursts into tears whenever she finds stuff from the shop lying around. It's hard for anyone to be around me. I think they just can't handle it… they think I'm you. I don't Apparate when no one is looking anymore, because they think you're back. Ginny had just been talking to me, and I Apparated down to the kitchen, and she thought you were back. She said "Fred, is that you?" and I had to break her heart and say no. It killed me to see her face. She just collapsed.

"I know you wouldn't have wanted what I'm about to do, but I don't care," said George. "This isn't working. We were supposed to go together. If that's the way it's going to be, then so be it. Fred, I have a plan. I'll see you soon."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hehehe… you guys hate me for that, don't you? Well, is George going to commit suicide? Let's read on and find out, shall we?**

**By the way, I WANT THE COMPLETELY HONEST TRUTH FROM THIS NEXT QUESTION- Am I making George overly-emotional? PLEASE tell me! I NEED to know! I'm going crazy here…**

**If any of you people are DeviantArtists, feel free to do fanart of this… if you feel this is worthy enough for it. Just make sure you credit me and all that. I have a Deviantart—bandgeek112. Be sure to check out my drawings… I'm not that good of an artist, though… anyway…**

**Oh, and sorry if I accidentally use anyone else's ideas… My brain is taking my writing in its own direction… Plus, sorry if this takes forever to be updated. I'm actually writing my own book called **_**Divided**_**. I won't tell you what it's about yet, because I'm paranoid and don't want anyone taking my ideas. Cheers! SORRY FOR THE INSANE SHORTNESS! This chapter is sort of a filler… I guess…**

George stood up, the green grass being crushed under his shoes. He gave Fred's headstone a lasting look, and then tore his eyes away. He pulled open the grey metal of the gate and stalked out determinedly. He twisted on the spot, Apparating to the Burrow.

George appeared in his room, and he furiously began stuffing clothes and a spare tent he found in his closet into a duffel bag. Finally, he went over to Fred's desk, and picked up a piece of parchment with Fred's handwriting… for a reminder in case his plan failed.

George knew he was risking everything- including his own life, but he didn't care. He knew the rules, and he was prepared to break them if he needed to. He knew how dangerous this was, but he was willing to go to desperate measures to save not only Fred, but his own mind.

Tugging the drawstring shut, George lifted it up onto his shoulders and slid his arms through the holes. He grabbed the ancient news clipping he had found, scavenging about in the Hogwarts library so many years ago. He and Fred had found it while studying for their O.W.L.s. The clipping explained about an old witch in Wales who had been investigated. It was rumored that she had a Time Vortex- a very powerful magical object in which the beholder could use it to go back in time as far as they wish. It was like a Time Turner, but much more effective. This was George's only hope in saving Fred.

The plan was simple… find the witch and use the Vortex. But where would he start? He didn't have a clue as to what part of Wales the witch was in. He didn't even know for sure it existed. He was acting on pure recklessness and even false hope- he thought he was being extremely selfish, to risk his life. If all of this went wrong, they could _both _end up dying, and then what would happen? What would he do? Obviously, if he was dead, there was no coming back- no Time Turner or Time Vortex.

George pushed aside his thoughts. He didn't want to worry about those types of things now. He had to _focus_. He thundered downstairs to hear his mother angrily shouting as he reached the bottom and entered the living room.

"I can't be everywhere at once! It's not like I can split myself in half!" she shouted.

George's mouth dropped open involuntarily. _How could she even think that? How… how could…_

Mrs. Weasley's mouth dropped open at the sight of George, his jaw hanging open, and her face fell. "Oh, George, I- I didn't mean… I'm sorry…"

But she never finished.

George twisted on the spot, with only an echo of his mother's startled scream impressed upon his ears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey! I finally have enough ideas for this to continue it! I'm gonna take a random guess and say this is only gonna be about... 10 chapters, more or less? I don't really know, but my head's gonna take this in its own direction, so will see what happens! This chapter, by the way, takes place about two weeks after he walked out on the rest of the Weasleys. Wow, that makes him sound bad... Plus, sorry if I get any facts wrong, seeing as I know absolutely nothing about Wales. I mean, I know about some stuff... but whatever, you get it. And plus, in this chapter, I use my first bit of 'language'. Though, is it really classified that way? I guess it depends on what context you're using it in. Enjoy!**

George sat in a dirty old pub, an untouched bottle of butterbeer sitting in front of him on the wooden, rickety table. A cloak was pulled low over his face, and he looked rather ominous to any outsider. But still he waited; he waited for the information that would change everything.

Every time the rusty old bell over the door clanged, an odd surge of hope rose up in him, like a dog rising on the scent of game. But no wizard came toward him.

Yet still, he waited.

George had remembered cornering someone in the alleyway outside, across the street. He'd gone to Wales, just like the clipping said. Some mysterious old man had followed him for days, thinking he was silent and stealthy and unnoticed, but George knew he was there all along. Finally he led the gullible man into the alleyway, turned on him and pinned him to the wall.

"Why are you following me?" George had demanded. The old man had gasped and spluttered a bit before George loosened his hold on his throat.

"You're searching for the Time Vortex," the man had gasped.

"What makes you say that?" George had retorted. That was seriously creepy. Could this guy read minds and/or perform Legilimency, or what?

"People looking for it always have this aura about 'em," he'd croaked. His voice was wheezy. "You can always tell, because they just look like they've got a purpose. So what's yours? You have a dead relative? Did something you want to take back?"

_'Definitely a Legilimens,' _George had thought. "Where'd you learn Legilimency?" George demanded, avoiding the question completely.

The man's gaze was confused; either he was an amazing actor, or he had absolutely no idea what Legilimency was.

"What's Le-geely-mensa?" the man had asked, confused. "It's not one of those voodoo arts you wizard people do with one of your wands, is it?"

"Erm..." George had trailed off. It was time to wipe the man's memory of the whole ordeal. He let go of the man, pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the man's head.

"Wait!" the man had said hurriedly. "Please, not one of those things again! Last time I saw one of those I was telly-ported to some place in Scotland! It took me ages to get back!"

George hesitated. His best guess was that he was a Muggle who knew about wizards- maybe he possibly had a relative that could perform magic- and had had a bad run in with some of them.

"All right," George had said. "I won't wipe your memory. But," he added- the man's face had erupted into an expression of relief- "only on one condition."

The man's face fell.

"You have to help me find the Time Vortex," George finished.

"Sorry- I can't do that," the man had said after a long silence.

"Are you sure about that?" George turned his wand on the man again.

"Okay, okay!" the man had said in a rush. "The name's Abner, by the way."

"All right, Abner," said George. "Where do we start?"

Abner had said he had to go and get someone, someone that could supposedly explain better than he could. George placed a tricky hex on him that would make him return as soon as he found this person. He also told him how to get inside the nearest Wizarding pub. And with that, Abner hobbled off back down the street.

So George was waiting for this mysterious man. It had been a full day since George had wormed the information out of Abner, yet Abner had not returned. George was getting slightly impatient. He didn't want to wait any longer. The longer he waited, the longer he would have to turn time back, and there would be less chance of finding Fred and saving him. Not to mention the tediousness of turning it back and forth to the exact moments in time, to avoid polluting the timeline or even coming back to the point where George hadn't thought of this plan yet. That would be horrendous. It was very confusing and complicating; it had taken George a while to figure it all out.

Finally, the door opened once more. The bells above it clang merrily, and finally, in walked Abner, an extremely old witch bobbing along in his wake. She was surprisingly agile and quick for her age. They wound their way to George's table and sat themselves down; glancing around a bit to make sure they weren't overheard.

"Took you long enough," George commented in a low voice, jerking his head in Abner's direction.

"Yeah, well, I had to get this one to trust me and come so cut me some slack." Abner pointed absently at the woman next to him.

"Ab, just because I'm a hundred and nineteen doesn't mean I can't hear you. You know I've been tricked a time too many in my years," the old lady said in a clear voice, not slurred like George expected.

"Sorry, Heather," said Abner.

"So why do you need my Time Vortex, boy?" the woman called Heather asked George.

George was slightly shocked by the abruptness of the question, but kept a calm composure and said carefully, "I need it because I lost someone," George's throat tightened slightly here. "He wasn't just a friend or a brother." He swallowed. "He was my twin."

Heather, who had had a very well rehearsed look of remorse on her face after George's first sentence, dropped her jaw in a round "O". "Well, that certainly changes things, doesn't it, boy?" Heather asked, patting George's hand. He nodded. Heather exclaimed, "Hm. I may be willing to help you. But you must know I am a woman of honesty. You've got to prove to me that you really want to bring this person back. You have to know for sure that this is what they want. You have to be sure."

George grinned, sly and foxlike, at the woman's agreement, but immediately became serious once more. "How do I prove it to you? Let's just say my life has so far been a living hell without him- we were inseparable. He was like my other half. I don't fancy being 'and George' for the rest of my life without Fred to go first. If that's not proof enough then I don't know what is. I know Fred wants this. I'm positive he didn't want to go that night. It takes a twin to go to such drastic measures, trust me." George finished. Heather looked impressed at George's openness. It was clear no one had ever been that sincere.

"Well, 'and George', I think you've proven it well enough to me," she said, smiling. "I give you permission to use my Time Vortex."


End file.
